


Heaven Can Wait

by agentmoppet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel Needs Love (Supernatural), Coda, Dean Winchester Needs Castiel, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Nobody is Dead, but trust me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: Dean’s in Heaven, but he ain’t dead yet. And someone wants to strike a bargain.ORPicking up right where the series left off and fixing it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 98





	Heaven Can Wait

**Author's Note:**

> My SPN lore isn't perfect, but I think this actually fits within canon...?

Dean drives. The road coasts by, and peace fills him—no pain, no danger, just the endless road and the knowledge that the ones he loves are safe. They’ll be along soon, and he’s free.

Except.

He frowns. There’s something behind that peace. He didn’t notice it at first, couldn’t dissect it from the joy he felt at seeing Bobby again, of knowing that Heaven had become something worth dying for. But now he’s on the road, feeling the wind through the open window and singing along to the radio, it’s there.

Behind everything.

Hidden.

It’s a numbness he once called peace, in his younger, dumber days. But Dean is older now—or he was, before he died—and he knows that numbness isn’t peace. It’s agony.

So, why does he still feel it in Heaven? You’d think after all the shit he’d been through on Earth, and with Heaven being fixed up fancy and all, the absence of that feeling would just be the bare minimum. Status quo. Deal breaker.

Whatever.

He drives, and when he reaches the bridge he parks the car and steps out to enjoy the breeze. Despite the unease that lingers, Dean still feels more restful than he ever has, and he knows he has Heaven to thank for it. Leaning against the rail, he stares down at the flowing water and slowly, creepingly, wonders if that’s the problem. He’s found peace, and it isn’t even his. He earned it in the most abstract sense, but he didn’t create it. He didn’t form it.

He knows it’s messed up, and he’s basically throwing the gift back in their faces, but it’s as though by  _ giving  _ him this feeling, they took it away from him. Made it so as he could never have it at all.

Movement shifts in the background behind him, and he smiles, knowing instinctively who it is and what it means. He turns.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean.”

His thoughts have been with Sam this whole drive, picturing him grow older, imagining the white picket fence life he knows his brother deserves—the one he can only have after he burns his brother’s body and learns to let go. The way Dean wants him to. The way Dean  _ begged  _ him to. It’s kept his unease at bay in a way even Heaven can’t quite manage.

But hugging Sam makes the numbness twist and writhe inside him, and for a second he feels alive again—not in the good sense. The agony beneath the numbness flares, and as he holds his brother he remembers all of the painful shit he’s left behind, like a breakdown frozen in amber. He flinches, pulling back and struggling to find his center.

He should be happy. Sammy’s here, Heaven is  _ good,  _ and they’re at peace.

It’s as he’s looking out at the river that it all clicks into place.

“You’re not Sam,” he says quietly.

“No,” the Empty agrees in Meg’s voice, and Dean turns to find her smiling at him. “But I had you going there for a second.”

“You can’t be here,” Dean protests, backing away and jabbing his finger towards her. The numbness inside him has completely dissipated, leaving a restless urgency that’s as familiar as breathing. “You have to be called.”

“Well that’s the funny thing.” Meg leans against the barrier, unperturbed. “You’re calling me all the time, Feathers.”

Dean squints at her. “Did Jack’s bomb addle your brains, sweetheart?” he asks, tapping the side of his head. “I’m not an angel. Are you looking for Cas? Is that what this is?”

Meg laughs, finally pushing away from the rail and striding towards him even as he backs away. “I saw the first angel die, Dean Winchester, and you think you know more about what you are than I do?” She comes to a halt in front of him and studies him. “Perhaps ‘Feathers’ isn’t quite the word, though, you’re right. There are definitely some scales in there, too.”

She wiggles her fingers on the word  _ scales _ , and Dean can’t help but flinch. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“What’s your soul seen?” Meg asks, tilting her head to the side as she begins to tick off things on her hand. “You’ve lived life as a demon, you’ve been to Hell, you’ve been to Purgatory—only monster souls there, sweetcheeks—you’ve even frittered around Heaven.” She straightens up. “And you still think your soul is human?”

“Of course it is,” Dean spits out, heart hammering. “I’m here, ain’t I?” 

This is a trick. It’s got to be a trick.

Megan tuts him. “Part of you is here,” she agrees. “And part of you belongs with me.”

“Then take that part and piss off,” Dean snaps, even as his chest aches with fear.

The Empty, he belongs in the Empty.

But Meg is already shaking her head. “It doesn’t work quite like that,” she says, “again—thanks to  _ you _ .” She jabs him in the chest and grabs him by the collar, shaking him. “Because you went and killed Death, didn’t you?”

Dean opens his mouth to argue and freezes, brow furrowing. “What? I mean— yeah, but—  _ what _ ? So what if I killed Death. There’s a new one by now, right?”

Or how else is he here?

“Administration flaws.” Meg shrugs, still holding him. “With a top to toe renovation on Heaven, I guess you can’t have everything at once.” She pauses to look around. “Love what your boy’s done to the place, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean finally shoves her away, staggering to keep his feet. “Cut the crap and tell me what you’re here for. If there isn’t a Death yet, there will be soon, so if you wanted to just wait it out you could. You want something from me.”

“I always said you were the smart one.” Meg sits down on Baby’s hood, and Dean fights the urge to make this personal. “Death sorts out the finer details, which souls go where, how they get there”—she points at Dean—”the tricky gray areas in between. But without her, your soul belongs in two places, which means…” she pauses for dramatic effect. “You get a choice.”

Dean’s heart stutters. “What?”

“Don’t make me take back the compliment,” she drawls. “That’s your third  _ what _ . You’re sounding like a mindless echo.”

“If you keep this up, I’ll—” Before Dean can think of a suitable threat that won’t get him kicked out of Heaven, he realizes what’s happening. “Jack said he’d made it loud…” Dean lifts his chin, staring at her with wide eyes. “You miss the silence. You want it quiet again.”

Meg sighs. “I do love a good echo. Pitch it right, and that sound will ring for eons.” She grits her teeth. “And it would still be more bearable than the wailing children I’m surrounded by now.”

Dean tilts his head. “And I can make it quiet for you?”

“You’re different,” Meg says, and for the first time her words sound far too casual to be anything but awed. “Not quite a demon, not quite a human… definitely not an angel, yet here you are in Heaven.” She shrugs. “You and your bomb-detonating fiend of a boy, and your feathery friend who doesn’t know how to rest… You’re all different. You don’t match up. And without someone around who’ll choose your box for you, that difference gives you a little extra power.”

The river rushes beneath them as Dean considers this. “I still don’t get what’s in it for me.” He waves a hand around him. “I’m already here. I don’t want to be in the Empty—no offence.” He grimaces. “So what’s the point in this little exchange here, when all I have to do is wait for the new Death to kick it and give me the rubber Heaven stamp on my forehead?”

“What makes you so sure she’ll keep you here?”

Dean laughs. “Too much paperwork to change it, right?” He winks. “I may not know everything, but I sure know how to be high maintenance.”

Meg grimaces. “Cute.” Her expression changes, whiplash fast. “And what if I could bring you back to life?”

This time, everything freezes. The wind, the water, Dean’s racing heart. It all just stops. The walls around him close in at the same time they disappear, and all he sees is racing, endless black. 

The Empty. Claiming his soul.

He swallows. “You can’t do that. No one can do that.”

It isn’t true, but he doesn’t know what is anymore. Doesn’t know what he wants.

Jack could probably resurrect him, but Dean doesn’t want to ask, not when Jack wanted so badly not to interfere. Dean can’t do that to him.

Not when Sam just let him go.

But Dean… Dean  _ wants _ . The numbness shatters, every broken piece inside him lighting up in technicolor, and he’s never wanted anything as badly as he wants to live.

“Dean,” Meg says slowly, a wealth of boredom in her voice. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re not  _ dead _ .”

He can’t breathe. There’s nothing in him, nothing left to cope with this.

“I—” he stammers. “I faded out, man. Fade to black, it’s all over. I  _ saw  _ it, don’t—” 

_ Don’t fuck with me, man _ , is what he doesn’t say, but it’s on the tip of his tongue and he knows they both hear it.

“Your human body checked out,” Meg agrees, “but your soul has no idea what to do with you. Are you demon? Monster? You certainly fitted into Purgatory nice and cozy. You walked side by side with the Darkness herself, after bearing the mark of the seal that contained her.” She gives an affected shudder and smiles. “There’s  _ too much  _ in you, Dean. You’re filled to the brim.”

There’s something in her words, some extra meaning she’s trying to convey with the way she stares him down. And it clicks. He’s talking to the Empty, the thing that existed before God and the Darkness, before angels and demons. Before humans. This entity exists containing nothing.

And Dean?

Dean contains everything.

“You’re saying…” he says slowly, thinking of Amara resting inside Jack’s body, thinking of Castiel—the angel that fell and reclaimed his grace, thinking of all of them and all the ways they’ve broken down the boundaries of what it means to exist within the confines of existence.

“I’m saying you’re  _ new _ ,” the Empty says, the words echoing into infinity, breaking apart within a darkness he can’t fathom. “This is how Divinity is born; I’ve seen it before. So, the choice is yours, Dean. But I’m not giving it to you for free.”

In the space of a heartbeat, his world shatters and is reborn. “I’ll take it,” he says, voice breaking.

Heaven can wait.

Dean wants to  _ live _ .

Meg opens her mouth, and Dean finds himself interrupting. “But I want it for Cas, too.”

He doesn’t know where the words come from. Every time he thinks of Cas, a strange buzzing starts up inside his brain and he can’t make his thoughts connect. It’s a jumble, a mess of sacrifice and loss and  _ anger _ . But he doesn’t know who he’s angry at. He suspects himself, but he also suspects that if he lets himself feel that anger, he won’t be able to bear it, so the mess stays. Like it always has.

Raising her eyebrow, Meg says, “This dinner and a show routine is getting old. I’m here to bargain knowledge—what you do with that is entirely up to you.”

“Fine.” He sniffs, rolling his shoulders and standing up straighter.

“ _ Fine _ .” Meg rolls her eyes. “But I’ve been striking a few bargains lately, and out of them all only Feathers has pulled through. That wins you one brownie point, but I’m still not giving you the answer until you make  _ this noise stop _ .”

Dean can hardly hear it, but he shrugs and says, “Sure. Tell me what to do.”

Meg sighs, the sound hitting Dean like a hurricane, and says, “Listen to it.”

Dean listens. He squints a little at Meg, shifting on his feet as she leans against Baby—which has appeared amongst the blackness—and watches him. Eventually he shuts his eyes because, come on, that’s just creepy. As his mind races, the hunter in him waking up and telling him to fight, he nearly gives up.

And then he hears it. An aching call wailing in his bones, the sleep of a thousand angels and demons thrown into nightmares. The echo of a bomb that gets louder and louder in each new chamber of nothingness.

The Empty can’t control it, because the Empty can never be filled.

And Dean was, apparently, made to be filled. 

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, lips twitching, but he ignores Meg’s questioning grunt and focuses on absorbing the sound.

The echoes rebound off walls that don’t exist, tumbling through the Empty, over her, and then finding their end inside Dean. He stumbles, ricocheting backwards with the force of the impact, and as his eyes snap open he sees an expression he’s never before seen on that face—bliss.

“That’s better,” Meg whispers, and with a snap of her fingers the final mutterings of restless angels and demons disappears as her world goes back to sleep.

“And your end of the bargain?” Dean snaps, his entire body jittering.

Meg laughs, the sound softer now that the echoes have faded. “I always uphold my deals,” she says pointedly. “But this one’s a real doozy. I feel like a bonafide car salesman, with how this turned out for me. The power’s within you, sunshine, you only have to speak it.”

“What?”

Meg tuts him. “There’s that fourth  _ what _ . You know, I’m really going to have to rethink the compliments I hand out. Can’t go around stroking egos willy nilly like this. People will talk.”

“What do you mean I have to speak it?” Dean grits out, so agitated he even slams his hand down on the top of Baby and barely notices. “What is there to speak?”

“Think about it,” Meg says, pushing away from the car and dusting down her jeans. “God and Amara come into existence, they walk the earth, and they speak their power. Creation, destruction—look I’m getting real tired of the fine print, here. Do you get what I’m saying, or not? Because I don’t want any of you bugging me again. When this deal’s done, we’re  _ done _ .”

“You’re saying,” Dean says slowly, “that Divine power is just a matter of… speaking.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “I’m saying you’re Divine. The fact you needed someone to tell you that is a bit pathetic, if I’m honest, but here we are. Power needs to be embraced, top to toe, all the light and all the darkness. All of it. The rest is up to you.”

Something lightens in Dean’s chest, and despite the drama, despite the arguments, he gets it. He  _ gets  _ it. 

“Okay,” he says.

“Thank  _ Christ _ .” With that, Meg disappears.

Dean blinks, stumbling backwards, but the Empty doesn’t reappear. Instead, Heaven drifts into view, materializing around Baby as though she’s an anchor, and Dean pats the top softly, like a goodbye.

“Cas?” he asks.

With a flutter of wings, Cas appears.

“Hello, Dean.”

Something in him shatters, but on the outside it appears as a smile. “Cas.” His voice breaks, and he can’t move.

Cas frowns. “Jack told me you were here, but I thought he must have misunderstood.”

“God don’t make mistakes,” Dean quips, laughing, but the laughter comes out nervous and Cas’ frown deepens.

“Is there something wrong on Earth? My calculations must be off, because it feels like only days must have passed—”

“I need you, Cas.”

Cas’ head tilts to the side, and for a single impossible second, Dean swears he blushes. “You need my assistance on Earth? Jack swore it had all been restored.”

“No,” Dean says, taking a step forward. “I mean. I need you with me.” The words come out harsher than he means them, and they somehow still aren’t enough. “It’s not the same without you, Cas. It never is. And I think, I think I can get used to dying, you know? After everything. It’s like something’s clicked, and I get it now. I get how this could be peace.” He waves a hand at all the greenery around them, the perfect sunlight, the breeze. He points to it all, and he doesn’t feel peace, and he knows he isn’t meant to be here. “But it isn’t. Not yet. I need to live, dammit, Cas, and I don’t want to live without you there with me.”

Cas stares at him, eyes widening ever so slightly, but enough to throw Dean right back to that night. Right back to the night Cas told him he loved him.

It all comes flooding back. The numbness burns away, shattering, and with it goes all the ways Dean has ever managed to hide from himself. So he stops hiding.

“Did you mean it?” he chokes out.

“Yes,” Cas says, so much feeling in the word that Dean nearly dies all over again.

“No, really, Cas, did you  _ mean  _ it?” Dean shakes his head, the world blurring a little through tears he swears he won’t let fall. It’s just like that night again. Like no time has passed at all, like every moment since has been spent on a precipice of trying to understand what Cas meant. 

Knowing it couldn’t possibly mean what Dean hoped.

“I don’t understand—”

“Like a human, Cas,” Dean manages to spit out, the words tasting foul and sick. Too vulnerable. Too real. “Did you mean it like a human, or like an angel?”

Cas softens, understanding written across his face. “You think, as an angel, I can’t understand?”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Dean challenges in a voice that does nothing at all to disguise the fact he’s actually begging. Begging Cas to tell him he’s wrong.

“I’ve been human, Dean,” Cas reminds him, taking a careful step forward. It almost looks unconscious. “I know exactly what I meant. And I meant it.”

The words hit, and they  _ hit _ , and the assault softens to something gentle that Dean has never felt before. He’s never known how to believe in the things he wants, but it occurs to him now that perhaps there’s a way around that. Maybe he can want what Cas believes instead.

“You were wrong,” he says, hurrying to finish before Cas misunderstands, “You can have me. You thought you couldn’t have me, but you can. You do.” The words cut off in his throat, and he swallows. Adds, “Dumbass.”

Cas stares at him, and slowly, he smiles. Radiant. Filling Dean from head to toe.

He doesn’t know which one of them moves first, but they’re in each other’s arms, held so tight Dean almost hurts from it, almost wants it to hurt because the pain of living feels like peace in a way Heaven can’t. Not now. Not for a long time.

Dean pulls back just far enough to rest his forehead against Cas’, hand sliding up to the back of Cas’ neck and just holding him there, the warmth of their breath brushing each other’s skin. 

“I spoke to the Empty,” he says. “She says we’re… new. Divine.”

Cas startles, but he doesn’t pull back, arms instead tugging Dean closer. “Jack hinted, but I think he wasn’t certain enough to say for sure.”

This time, Dean pulls back far enough to stare into Cas’ eyes. “I don’t want to be Divine.”

Cas shakes his head. “It does come with a number of flaws.”

Dean grins, heart so full it’s bursting. “Want to be human again with me?”

Cas smiles slowly. “Are you asking if I want to fall?”

Dean winks. “Did it hurt? When you fell from Heaven?”

Cas’ smile morphs into a frown. “There’s no pain in the fall, Dean. Are you concerned, because I can—”

Dean’s smile drops, but only for a second. He’s still too giddy. “Forget it.” He lowers his hands to Cas’ waist. “So… how does this work? Is there an ejecto button or somethin’?”

Cas regards him, head tilted. “It’s a choice, by definition,” he says, voice thoughtful. “But buttons do make things more exciting.”

Then he kisses him. Dean startles, a shocked noise escaping him, but there’s no chance to take control because the world disappears around them. Galaxies spin, filled with vibrant darkness, and Dean does the only thing that makes sense—he kisses Cas right back. Warmth blooms in his chest, rising and catching in the hollow of his lips and throat as Cas grips him by the collar and shows him what it means to be human.

The world spins, and they fall. They fall, and they fall, and they fall.

When they land, there’s a moment of confusion where Dean realizes he’s wrapped up in a sheet and lying down on a pile of something poky. From outside the rustle of fabric, he hears Cas’ voice.

“The funeral pyre was a conscientious touch, Sam, but it’s no longer required.”

“What the—” There’s a sound of someone very tall crashing over.

“He might need some help,” Cas points out, and then two hands lay on top of Dean’s stomach, stopping his thrashing.

Together, they throw the sheet off and Dean sits up with a gasp. His chest fills with relief, warm and bright, when he sees his brother gaping at him from the floor.

Then, there’s a woof and two paws leap up at him. He blinks.

“You brought  _ my dog  _ to the funeral?” Dean glares at him, incredulous and hugging Miracle tightly to his chest anyway. If his heart hadn't burst before, it might now as Miracle burrows into Dean's armpit with a contented whuff. “You’re burning me! He doesn’t need to see that!”

“Well—” Sam gapes, scrambling to his feet. “I thought he might need closure!”

“With a fire?” Dean leaps off the pyre, glancing over his shoulder at it and shuddering. “No one gets closure from fire, Sammy, you know that.”

“Dogs might be different!” Sam protests. “They’ve got a healthy relationship with death.” Then he stops, freezes, and says, “You’re really back.”

Dean grins, softening. “I’m really back.”

Sam swallows, and then he leaps across the space between them and draws Dean into a backbreaking hug. “I thought this was it.”

“Well,” Dean says, pulling away after a moment. “It is now. There’s a few gaps to fill in, but… I made a choice.”

Sam frowns. “A choice?”

“Yeah,” Dean grins, and just like that, he can’t stop, his face stretching until it’s almost painful. And he’s laughing. “I made my first real choice. First  _ free  _ choice.”

“What… what are you saying?” Sam looks between them, confused. “Are you… immortal now, or something?”

Dean shakes his head, chin lifted high. “Nope. Nope, Sammy, this time I’m human.”

In the background, Cas closes his eyes, as if searching for the signs of angel radio. When he opens them again, his face is alight with wonder.

His eyes meet Dean’s, and that’s when Dean knows. It’s gonna be all right. It’s all going to be all right.

Cas says, “It’s quiet again.”

Quiet. Human.

Not always peaceful, but for the first time in his life, Dean is at peace.

Cas tilts his head to the side. “How did you die, anyway, Dean?”

Dean balks. “‘S’not really important,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

Cas’ frown deepens. “Is there another enemy we need to be aware of? A bigger piece on the board?”

Sam snickers, although it comes out a little wet.

Dean shakes his head, face steeled in an  _ I’ve totally got this  _ expression. “I’ve totally got this,” he says firmly. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

“Okay, but I really think we should have a plan ready if there’s any chance—”

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Come here.”

Dean drags Cas in, realizing suddenly that he’s never going to get enough of this—that he never  _ has  _ to get enough of this. It’s his. It’s his for all of their lives and then eternity beyond. Cas believes, and Dean wants, and somewhere in the middle it merges into one. Into balance.

Sam yelps. “Urgh, yuck, Dean.”

Dean laughs against Cas’ lips while, in the background, Sam pulls a face and walks away.

*

Sam chooses a white picket fence for the house he shares with Eileen, because he’s Sammy and his taste is shit.

Dean paints his and Cas’ fence gray, because he’s got class.

It’s the first in a long line of choices they make, some together, and some on their own. But most of all, Dean is sure of one thing—he’s chosen to live a long, long life.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Just resolving the threads as I see them. Thanks for reading <3


End file.
